


Whumptober 2019 - Jessica Jones

by HeartOfStars



Series: Whumptober 2019 [4]
Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Jessica Jones, And So Is Luke Cage, But Kilgrave Is An Unredeemable Asshole And Everyone Hates Him, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jessica Jones (TV) Spoilers, Jessica Jones Being An Asshole, Jessica and Kilgrave Are Not A Romantic Couple In Any Way, Kilgrave Is Disgusting, Past Rape/Non-con, Swearing, Traumatized Jessica Jones, Trish Walker Is Adorable, Vague Defenders Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-11-28 14:00:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20967713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfStars/pseuds/HeartOfStars
Summary: Whumptober prompts featuring Jessica Jones. Warning for swearing, alcohol content, and mention of rape; all things seen in the show, but things that could still be potentially triggering.Day 7: Isolation-- The aftermath of Jessica's first run-in with Kilgrave; prequel to episode one.Day 15: Scars-- Luke comforts Jessica after season 1.Day 22: Hallucination--How Trish helps Jessica get past Kilgrave after the events of season 1; spoilers up to 2x11.Day 29: Numb-- Jessica's time with Kilgrave(not detailed, and CERTAINLY not romantic).





	1. Day 7: Isolation

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for language, rape mention, and alcohol content: I tried to make it similar to what's seen on the show, so if you have issues with any of these elements I'd advise proceeding with caution. Otherwise, enjoy!

“Jess? Jessica? Come on, just pick up the phone. I know you’re there, but if you never talk to me, how do I know that for sure?”

The temptation is so goddamn tempting. Pick up the phone. Talk to Trish. Tell her you’re okay, hear her voice--but Jessica can’t do that. Her hand stops, just inches from pressing the green button, and then she turns the phone over, facedown on the table. If she starts talking to Trish, Trish will talk to her...and then she’ll start asking her when she’s going to start saving people again. What she’ll do when there’s a shooting on the news. 

She can’t do it again. 

“Jess, you’ve got to at least talk to me.”

The second Trish hangs up, Jessica disables voicemail on her phone. 

She’s always had Trish. For over half her life, it’s been her and Trish, dealing with Dorothy, with boyfriends, with Stirling’s murder, with addiction. Those things had come and gone; but she and Trish had stayed a constant throughout. They’d argued, sure. They’d been separated; but nothing had ever come between them for good. They’d always come back together, just as close as before. 

Until...until Kilgrave.

_ Come here, Jessica. _

Shit.

She’s done well so far, she hasn’t had a single flashback, as long as she keeps thinking forward--but the second his name enters her mind, all she can see is his face, self-confident and smug; all she can smell is that stupidass cologne he insisted on wearing, even when she told him she hated it and then he told her to love it; all she can hear is his voice, limey and sharp and blunt and quiet all at the same time, telling her to do things she hated, telling her to smile when she was tired and exhausted, telling her to wear dresses that looked awful on her, telling her not to drink at dinner when that was the only thing that stood a chance at getting him out of her head, telling her to kiss him and touch him and let him rape her and tell him she loved him when she _ hated him, _ when she wanted nothing more than to rip his goddamn tongue out through the back of his skull if that’s what it took to keep him from commanding her, telling her to _ take care of-- _

_ You have to think about your home. _ That bullshit doctor’s voice comes back to her, but for the first time she wonders if she’d better try out the half-assed advice he’d given her. _ Picture the street where you grew up…then the next one over...and the next… _

She closes her eyes. She can see it, all right: Birch Street. But she hasn’t been there in over ten years.

“B-Birch Street,” she says, stammering at first; she’s been crying, she realizes. Her cheeks are wet. “Birch Street.” 

She can see her mom. And Philip. And her dad.

“Birch Street.” The next one over. “Cobalt Lane.” She’d made a friend there, Tiffany Regis. They’d hung out in middle school, until Tiffany moved. “Higgins Drive.”

Jessica can’t see Kilgrave anymore. She opens her eyes. 

Her new apartment is unfamiliar to her--brown walls, a desk, a small bedroom--but it’s different. It’s new. It doesn’t stink of Kilgrave’s cologne, so that means it’ll keep the memories away. Hopefully. 

_ I’ll be here...I’ll always be here. _

That’s a false hope. Jessica feels a sob welling up in her throat; she slams a hand down on the desk. The wood breaks. With a sigh, she raises her hands. Sometimes she forgets her own strength.

“Birch Street,” she says again, her voice low and shaking. “Birch...Birch Street…”

Enough of that shit. Jessica picks up a bottle of whiskey. Desperately, she drinks the alcohol straight from the bottle, willing it to take over her brain, drive Kilgrave out...kill her, maybe. But that’s another false hope. She could drink all the alcohol in the world and it would get her drunk, definitely; maybe even send her into cardiac arrest. But it wouldn’t kill her. She’s tried before. 

The phone rings again. 

Jessica stares at it for a long, long moment. The temptation is stronger now; she wants so badly to hear Trish’s voice, to hear someone who actually cares about her. But she can’t. She knows she can’t. If something like Kilgrave happened again...if Kilgrave _ himself _happened again…

_ I’ll be here… _

Cobalt Lane.

She can’t risk being connected to anyone he could make her kill. She has to be alone now, no matter how much it hurts. And, God, it hurts. But she has to cut herself off.

“Sorry, Trish,” she says. Her voice sounds low and rough in the darkness of her new apartment. But at least the words, for the first time in eight goddamn months, are her own. “I’m on my own now.”


	2. Day 15: Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 1 AU: Jessica is there when Luke wakes up. Jessica Jones season 1 spoiler alert!

She hadn't planned on staying long; she couldn't. Not when the entire city of New York was looking for her, not when Jeri had told her she had to at least pretend to play along if she didn't want to go to prison...she'd only gone back to get her bag. The pictures would be proof that she'd been looking for Kilgrave for a long time, that she hadn't suddenly decided to kill him. That he'd taken over her mind, long after she'd become immune to him, and that he had deserved to die. In addition, she needed to see Luke one more time, make sure he was all right. He'd be asleep, and she wanted it to stay that way--but she had to see him one more time, before she went into police custody. 

She'd also come back to drink several gallons of bourbon.

After everything that had happened that night, she needed it; so, long after she'd finished gathering everything she needed, she stood in front of her desk by the window, her fourth glass in hand, staring out at the city skyline. Technically, New York City was exactly the same as it had been two hours ago: busy, bright, and dangerous. But it felt completely different. Now it was a place where she was a murderer, twice. A place where she'd given into the power simmering under her skin.

A place where, against all odds, she was free.

_Where did it go wrong? _The thought had echoed in her mind on repeat ever since she'd done it. True, she'd rid the world of a monster...by becoming exactly what the monster had wanted her to be all along. Maybe it had gone wrong the way she'd suspected, for a long time: the night she saved the little girl. The night she'd decided to do something. That was what had led her to Kilgrave, after all. If he had never seen her save Malcolm, she would never have become a killer. 

"Maybe it's Malcolm's fault," she muttered to herself.

"Malcolm? What's he up to now?"

Luke's voice. Jessica started; he couldn't be awake yet. Not now. It meant she had to tell him what she'd done; to him, and to everyone else, and to Kilgrave. But maybe the wound had done something to his brain. Maybe he wouldn't remember that she'd shot him in the head.

"You know," she said, "I wasn't supposed to be here when you woke up."

"Why not?" Now Luke was standing beside her. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Damn it. He remembered. With a sigh, Jessica turned to face him.

"You're wrong. There's everything to be ashamed of." She looked up at him. All she wanted was to touch him like she'd touched him before; on his face, and his chest...and other places. And then kiss him, and be so swept away she forgot everything that had happened. But she could never be with him again. She knew that. So she didn't touch him, didn't even move her hand from her side. "How do you feel?"

Luke shrugged. "Good as new. I'm assuming you didn't patch me up?"

That drew a smile out of her. He knew she knew absolutely nothing about first aid. "No. I got a nurse to do it. Turns out she knows another..." Jessica searched for the right word. "Another one of us."

"Another gifted?"

That was their word from a few weeks ago, after they'd discovered they both had abilities and had a...workout, for lack of a better word, in Luke's apartment. Jessica had laughed then. But now, after Kilgrave, the word was nothing but painful. He'd thought he was gifted...that she was gifted. And that had drawn him to her.

"Yes, but no. Don't use that word."

"Fine by me." Luke touched his head, right where Jessica had shot him. "Interesting. I don't feel anything."

Jessica looked away. She'd done that to him. "Not all scars are on the outside."

Luke studied her for several seconds. "Jones--"

"Don't ask." Jessica drank the rest of the bourbon, reached for the bottle, and poured herself more. "Please, Luke, don't ask."

"I don't need to." His hand was on her face then, sweeping the hair back from her eyes. She still couldn't look at him; she didn't deserve to have him even be standing there, in front of her. "You're here. You're sane, and police sirens have been going off for the last fifteen minutes." There was silence, and then... "You did it, didn't you?"

Jessica finally looked up at Luke.

"If I did, it doesn't matter. There was no way I could win, Luke." Her voice broke, but she couldn't stop talking now. "Either way, I was going to lose: if I didn't face him, he would continue murdering people. If I killed him, I would become exactly what he wanted me to be." She let out a shaky breath. "He won."

Luke removed his hand from her face.

"No," he said. "Don't think that way. Some things, there's no way out. He didn't give you that, Jessica. He was a monster."

As if she didn't already know that? Suddenly Jessica was furious; she picked up the glass and threw it. It shattered against the bookcase, but Luke didn't flinch.

"You think I don't already know that? It's pretty goddamn obvious! He was a monster ever since his parents decided to experiment on him, but you don't get it. He was a monster, and then, what am I? At best I'm a decent asshole, at worst...I'm a piece of shit."

Luke's hands clenched into fists, and Jessica's anger vanished. Of course...he would feel remorse for that. He'd called her that, the night he found out how Reva died.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"We've both got enough on our plates," Luke said softly. "Don't apologize, and I won't either. That's why I fell in love with you. You're unapologetic."

She was. That was true; and then Jessica realized that that was the one thing she loved about herself. She was unapologetic. So naturally, that's what Kilgrave had worked to destroy.

"You're right," she said; and before she realized she was doing it, she'd stood on tiptoe and kissed Luke on the lips. Something in her mind was terrified, that he would shove her away, that he'd been pretending...but there was no hesitation. He responded eagerly. Slowly, they sank down onto the floor, arms wrapped around one another. And every second the kiss went on, the less dirty Jessica felt. It was like...it was like he was healing her.

Maybe that was his real superpower.

Finally they pulled apart, and Jessica realized there were tears on her cheeks.

"Usually I don't cry," she said dryly. 

"Neither do I," said Luke, and then Jessica realized that there were tears in his eyes as well. He kissed her briefly; she leaned into the contact, and was disappointed when he pulled back. "But I think it's worth it, if we're healing each other's scars."

Jessica smiled--the first real one in weeks--and pulled him into an embrace again. Maybe, just maybe, she really could have a future with him...without Kilgrave there to break them apart.

Whatever existed between them, it was a start. And that was enough.


	3. Day 22: Hallucination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica learns how to stop seeing Kilgrave, months after the events of season 1. Trish plays a large role.  
Spoilers for Jessica Jones seasons 1 and 2; very, very mild spoilers for The Defenders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt seemed rather apt for Jess, don't you think? This is my idea of how Jessica gets past her trauma of Kilgrave, which had to have taken a long time; because Trish plays such a large role in her life, it seems like a natural conclusion that Trish would help her.  
Warning: More mention of past rape, though it's more vague this time around.

Several months after Kilgrave, she sees him again. 

She’d thought he was gone; that after she killed him, traumatic though it was, the PTSD would stop, the nightmares would stop. But that, apparently, was too much to hope for. She has been working with Malcolm--grudgingly, reluctantly, but she _ has _been working--to save more lives, try to undo all the damage she did. And it’s been going well. Malcolm is an annoying little shit, but he keeps her on her toes; and, really, he should be running Alias instead of her. So everything is good, at least as good as it can be in this hellhole of a city. 

At least, it was. Until Kilgrave decided to show up. 

One Friday, Malcolm isn’t there when she comes home from a day of working; She sighs, closes the door behind her, and reaches for the half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the table. 

“So, this is what happens when you leave me, is it?”

Jessica spins around, dropping the bottle. There he is, leaning against the wall with his arrogant, self-important smirk; and although she knows it isn’t true, it _ can’t _ be true, he looks so goddamn _ real. _

She wants to say something, snap at him...but she can’t. Even dead, he leaves her powerless, and she hates it. 

Kilgrave’s smile widens. “You start lying to yourself.”

Jessica still cannot speak; her mouth opens and closes, several times, but she can’t quite get her voice to work. Slowly, almost tripping over herself, she stumbles out the door and runs from the building, not stopping until she’s outside and sucking in fresh air. But even after that she can’t go back--it’s too soon. That asshole is bound to be there, just taunting her, reminding her of “what they could have been,” reminding her of what a god-awful person she is...so she takes off for the nearest bar, and stays there all night.

The following week, she meets Matt Murdock, and for a while she forgets Kilgrave. She’d never say it to Matt’s face, but he’s helped her; their problem, annoying as it is, distracts her. 

Then it’s over, and she thinks things can go back to normal; but when she gets into a taxi, Kilgrave is sitting beside her. 

“And you still think you can be a hero,” he says, his smile mocking her. 

“You’re not real,” Jessica whispers to herself, so the taxi driver can’t hear her. “He’s not real, he’s not there…”

That night, she doesn’t sleep more than a few hours. How can she, when Kilgrave shows up in her dreams, too, stroking her hair and skin, telling her it’s all right, that she’s with _ him _now--

The following morning, she meets Trish for lunch; it’s spur of the moment, not usual for her, but she needs something, _ anything, _to distract her from the voice in her head. 

“Hi, Jess,” Trish says, and then frowns. “You look terrible.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Jessica mutters, taking a long drink of the wine Trish ordered. 

“Well, you do!” Trish insists. Then, to the waiter: “I’ll have the vegan charcuterie.”

Jessica rolls her eyes; Trish and her obsession with healthy food. She knows it comes from Dorothy, and she’s tried her best to talk her out of ordering vegan shit; at least Trish isn’t anorexic anymore. But today she doesn’t have the energy to argue. 

“Just a burger for me,” she says, “no onions.”

The waiter walks away. 

“You should be worried about yourself,” Jessica says, “not me. The last I heard, your show wasn’t doing great.”

It’s a lousy attempt at empathy, but it works. Somewhat.

“Jess, you know I don’t care about that damn show!” Trish sighs, looking Jessica in the eye; Jessica can’t stand the pity she sees there, so she downs the last of her wine. “And you can’t ignore me by drinking yourself into unconsciousness--”

Jessica does just that, signaling the waiter for another bottle and refilling her glass the instant it comes. 

“I can get drunk, I can’t pass out. You know how it works.”

“Jessica, just listen to me!” Reluctantly, Jessica looks up. “You’re seeing him, aren’t you?”

Jessica’s retort catches in her throat. Was it _ that _obvious?

“You need help,” she says. “_ Real _ help; talking to someone, _ not _ repressing your feelings…”

“Yeah, thanks, that’s two things that make me ill,” she snaps. 

“I’m not talking about therapy,” Trish says. “It didn’t help you last time. I mean...just talk to _ me, _Jess.” 

The look in Trish’s eyes is sincere, loving...and that’s what makes Jessica decide not to talk. She can’t spill all her shit on Trish; it came close enough, with Kilgrave getting Trish briefly under his control not once, but twice. Yes, Trish had put herself in that position, both times...but she didn’t know. She couldn’t possibly know how truly awful Kilgrave had been. 

“No, thanks. I think I’ll just stick to insomnia and repressing my feelings.”

“Well, then, why not come over to my place?”

Jessica blinks, caught by surprise. She hasn’t thought of that; in fact, the main place she’s seen Kilgrave has been her apartment. 

_ Say no, _ says a strong voice in her head. _ You don’t want to risk Trish finding out about all your baggage, at least more than she has already… _

The voice is speaking in a familiar British accent. 

And, for the first time, she understands what it means: whatever the voice says, she has to do the opposite. 

“Sure,” Jessica says. “Why not?”

So that night, she goes to Trish’s large, glorious apartment. She sleeps on the couch, a bottle of bourbon resting beside her and Trish in the other room; and the entire night, Kilgrave doesn’t make one single appearance. 

After that, Jessica returns to her apartment, and doesn’t see Kilgrave for a while. Then she runs into Luke on the street. They nod, smile, and go their separate ways; but that night, she sees _ him _ again, hears _ take care of her _over and over and over again--

The following night, she returns to Trish’s apartment. She starts on the couch; then she feels a whisper near her, hands in her hair, and winds up sleeping next to Trish. Neither of them says anything, but the idea that Trish is right there, a whisper away, keeps Kilgrave at a distance. 

And then, for months, he doesn’t return. 

Then comes the awful night, the struggle with her mother, and the prison guard; Jessica is attacked by him and kills him, unwittingly. It’s self-defense, but that’s still murder. And when she hears Kilgrave in her head, saying _ you killed someone, _when she sees him slowly applauding her, she isn’t near Trish. Trish has been distracted lately, not herself; Jessica is alone. She can’t fight him. 

So eventually, he’s back in her apartment. 

When she walks inside, he’s there. When she showers, standing in her most vulnerable state, he is there with her, whispering that he is proud of her. When she inspects Malcolm’s apartment, he’s there, reminding her of what existed between them, all the disgusting things they used to do to each other...

_ Eighteen seconds. _

He doesn’t say it, but it’s there. 

_ Right, killer? _

And when Karl nearly kills Trish, she almost believes that monster, for one tiny second; that they _did_ belong together, because he’s a despicable killer and so is she, and she deserves nothing but the devil. She didn’t deserve Stirling. She didn’t deserve Luke. She certainly doesn’t deserve Oscar, doting father and loving partner…

And then, somehow, she manages to avoid killing Karl, but later, the reason is obvious: she needed to save Trish, not kill someone else. 

_ I’m not you, _ Jessica tells Kilgrave. _ I’m not my mother. I can control myself. So I’m stronger than you ever were. _

And technically, she’s right. But in the end, it was Trish she had to save, Trish who was there, Trish who is back in her life. 

Trish who _ is safe. _

So in the end, Trish saved her from Kilgrave once again, even though she was unconscious and choking up blood, even if she didn’t think she was doing it. 

And so, even as Jessica says the words, Kilgrave fades from her sight. 

Jessica never sees him again.


	4. Day 29: Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica's time spent with Kilgrave. Exactly as awful as it sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, there are no actual rape scenes, only description of things that happened. This is supposed to be traumatic, and Jessica/Kilgrave IS NOT a thing.

_ You like Chinese. Come on. _

After that, everything is a blur. Confusing. One long horrible nightmare of torture...or sweet, blissful happiness. She doesn’t even know that; and in the months that it lasts, she tries to sort through what’s going on. 

He takes her to a Chinese place. She does like Chinese. 

He tells her to wear a dress. She hates wearing dresses, but she does it for him.

He pays for dinner. It’s a stupid stereotype, but...Stirling always paid for dinner.

He takes her to a spectacular hotel. It has amazing room service, all the TV channels she could want, and the neighbors are quiet. Better than anything she’s ever had. 

He makes her have sex with him. She doesn’t want to do it, but she does it for him. 

And that’s just the first night. 

There’s a part of her, right away, that instinctively _ knows _ that what’s happening is terrible and abusive and _ wrong. _The other part of her, against her will, loves Kilgrave and loves wearing dresses and smiling for him and believes that what he’s doing is beyond nice. More than anything she deserves. 

The strong part of her fights the second day; she swears, just as usual. She’s irritated with the traffic, or something like that. But Kilgrave doesn’t like it. 

“No one wants to hear that, darling.”

Seven words. They shouldn’t be enough, but even one is, coming from him. She’s always liked swearing, especially since her family died and Dorothy wreaked havoc on her alone time; it was vile, sure, but she didn’t care. It made her feel better, somehow, took away some of the endless hurt she was facing. And it sure as hell would have helped now. 

_ Goddamn you bitching piece of horseshit, _she wants to spit in his face. 

Instead, she shuts up. 

And the rest of the day, while Kilgrave buys her things and takes her to see works of architecture and pays for lunch and that night, has sex with her again, Jessica can feel that strong part of her losing, giving in; ever since he stopped her cursing, she knows she is not in control. She can’t do anything. 

So she numbs herself. 

Hour by hour, day by day, week by week, month by month, Kilgrave makes her wear dresses she hates, takes her to places that(while beautiful) remind her of her family, _ asks _her about her family over and over again, keeps her away from Trish, tells her to beat up people she likes who have only threatened him, while he has sex with her, she pretends like she isn’t there. Like she isn’t feeling anything, like she’s having a dream. 

_ I’ll wake up at some point, _ she tells her. _ I’ll go to work, complain about my job to Trish...save someone’s life later… _

It’s hardly a way of coping, by any means; it’s not _ doing _ anything to take control, to do what _ she _ wants, to do something for _ her _and rip that asshole’s tongue out of his mouth so he can’t give her commands any longer. But it’s something. It keeps her from hating herself.

And yet, for some reason, the nightmare goes on. He does an entire one-month “anniversary,” just for her, he says...but it’s really for him. He buys her lingerie that’s too tight on her. He buys her pasta amatriciana--her favorite--but he gets it by terrifying the entire restaurant. He has sex with her later. 

“Wear the purple dress, darling; and smile, for God’s sake!” He _ sighs, _as if she’s disappointed him, or something. “No one likes a bitch.”

_ Redefine the word, dickhead. _

Again, what she _ wants _to say. She almost does; her mouth opens, and then slowly, dragged against her will, it curves up into a smile. Kilgrave kisses her, and the kiss is like being restrained by a straitjacket. 

One morning, after their nightly activity, she wakes up thinking of Trish for some reason; her best friend, who she hasn’t seen in ages. She’s bound to be worried. 

“Trish,” she says. 

It’s what she wants to say, and Kilgrave knows it. 

“Oh, you don’t need her. Come, stay in bed with me.”

“But Trish,” Jessica says again, dumbly. “She’s...she’s going to be worried.”

“Oh, damn it,” says Kilgrave then, as if he’s seen sense. “All right, give her a call, tell her you’re with me; everything is fine, Jessica.”

“Everything is fine,” she repeats with a smile, and that’s what she tells Trish. 

Trish keeps entering her thoughts; Trish, and memories of Stirling, who would _ never _ have had sex with her against her will, who never would have bought her anything uncomfortable to wear, who never would have made her do a single damn she didn’t want to do. The question echoes through her mind, again and again: _ who are you, Jessica Jones? _

_ Who are you? _

Someone who’s become submissive, apparently. 

_ Just him, just him, _ she thinks, as he buys her a place overlooking the corner where Stirling died. _ That’s him. Not me. _

But she _ did _ like pasta amatriciana; she _ did _like drinking, and he bought her wine to drink. That was her. 

But she did not want tight clothing. She did not want to wear dresses. She did not want to have sex with him, again and again, every single night. She did not want to hurt innocent people who’d simply offended him.

She did not want to smile. 

“Why don’t you listen to me?” he demands, after she’s nearly succeeded in getting away from him. Almost. An almost victory, and that’s more than she’s done in months. “Answer me!”

“Because…” _ Because you’re stupid, because you don’t want to, because you’re stupid, because you don’t want to, because-- _“Because I don’t want to.”

And she wanted to say that. Finally, some honesty.

Her punishment: an attempt to cut her own ears off. And then another kiss...and then more sex, later that night…

No. It’s not sex, because she doesn’t want it. It’s rape. 

Why has it taken her so goddamn long to admit it?

_ Who are you, Jessica Jones? Who are you? _

Numb, she thinks as he rapes her again. Numb. Someone who’s numbed herself. Someone who almost got away, but failed. 

Who are you? 

Stupid. That’s what she is, when she doesn’t listen to him. 

“Today’s guest is Malia Obama! She may be the First Daughter, but she’s making a name of her own with the trends she’s setting. Tell me, Malia, what inspires your unique fashion choices?”

Trish isn't speaking to her, but her voice reaches Jessica like an angel speaking from heaven. It cuts through all the pain she's been through, all the awful misery and loathing, and for one glorious moment, she thinks, she could snap Kilgrave's neck...

“Oh, we don’t need that!” Kilgrave cuts in. “Patsy’s attempting to start a new life for herself, I see.”

Trish had a new show. Jessica realizes that suddenly. How come she hadn’t told Jessica?

Because Jessica hasn’t talked to her for months aside from telling her “she’s fine.”

Who is she? Someone who loves her best friend. 

“Jessica, we need this very quickly. Dig it up.”

She is forced to dig then, to ruin her hands scrambling in the dirt for whatever it is Kilgrave wants; and this poor woman he’s controlled, though again, she doesn’t technically want it. She just knows where it is, so she’s useful. 

“Take care of her.”

Not useful anymore. 

Jessica punches her in the chest. 

And then, immediately, alarm bells are going off. Why, she asks herself. Why? What did I do? 

_ You killed someone. _

“That’s enough, leave her!”

Jessica keeps walking forward. 

This woman, whose name she didn’t even know, lies cold and dead in the street. Dead by Jessica’s ruined, bloody hands. Her fault, her fault. 

Kilgrave’s fault. 

_ I didn’t want to do this. He made me do this. _

_ For him. _

“Get back here, Jessica!”

A bus honks behind her; she’s in a daze. Who is she? Who is she? She can barely hear Kilgrave. 

_ Who is she? _

Someone who doesn't kill.

She is walking away. 

“NOW, JESSICA!”

Another honk. An unearthly scream from Kilgrave--Jessica spins around to see the bus swerve to avoid the woman she just killed and crash into Kilgrave. 

No more commands. 

No more. 

She should feel triumphant, she thinks, as she stands there in the street. Because she’s free now. Because he’s dead. She should feel happy. 

But instead, all she feels is numb. 


End file.
